There were far, far worse ways to climb a flight of stairs.

With his free hand, Takahiro pulled himself up the banister, his other arm entwined within that of his new companion as she helped his ascent. They moved with a casual, natural elegance, matching each other's step as if they had done this so many times before. 

"Galina, Demidova..." He swirled the name over his tongue, smiling easily as they moved. "I am, Takahiro Souma." He offered a polite nod to accompany the words. "It is, pleasure, Missu Demidova." 

It was the honest truth, not a hint of insincerity to find within his words or demeanor. Why should there have been? Climbing those steps with such a lady by his side, he felt truly pleased by this event for the first time since stepping through the door. Any concern he might have felt over her heritage -her name only enforced what he had believed- felt short when compared to the fortune her company provided. They were nothing more than guests enjoying the celebration and mansion around them. There was no reason for anyone to look at them twice, no cause for him to stand out. It was everything he had been looking for come true in wonderful fashion.

Who could blame him for enjoying their climb?

As they made their way as one to the second floor, a part of Takahiro's mind went over a mental list of tonight's goals. It was a fairly short list, simple points all, and a good number of them were checked off already. Getting to the [i]third[/i] floor would be a little tricky, but there was no cause for rush just yet. The crowd would be thinner up here, easier to avoid or simply slip by, but he needed the right time. Until then, passing the moments by with the young Galina Demidova at his arm would be-... oh... well now...

After passing over the top of the stairs and joining those couples likewise gazing through the gallery, Takahiro had turned to give Galina his gratitude, and was stopped by a sight just beyond her. He had always been a fan of artwork -it had certainly been no lie when he told Galina that same thing- but he always remained partial to that of his own country. There was just something about the flowing way his kinsmen drew and painted, as if bringing color to a river that had until then remained unseen. That love was mirrored in the vibrant, if incomplete, tattoo that covered most of his chest and back, hidden now beneath layers of western fashion. Six years of work to create the tapestry upon his flesh, as many as ten more to go until it could be called 'complete'. There were few works that could rival such painstaking and masterful artistry... But the Winchester Gallery was up for the competition.

"You know, who made that?" The pause before he spoke was short, but noticeable. Takahiro recovering to catch his companion's eye before gesturing towards the work beside her. It depicted what might be a pond or lake, vines dangling from the upper boundaries of it's frame and water lilies flowering all across the water's surface. It seemed almost something his kin would paint, yet the way it was done was so very different... almost... refreshing?

"You know, who made that? Very, very good..."